


The Ties that Bind

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Holiday, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-17
Updated: 2007-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-17 17:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: #9 in The Fountain of Youth Series. Thanksgiving acquires new meaning when Jack accepts an invitation to visit his estranged parents at Sara's house and SG-1 accompanies him.





	The Ties that Bind

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

The Ties that Bind

 

I’m hearing voices, never a good thing, but I’m in the basement and I could swear I’m hearing voices in the entryway. Daniel knows better than to open the door to strangers so it must be someone he knows. 

It sounds like an adult voice - an adult male voice and not Teal’c’s deep bass. The dog starts to bark as I rummage through cans of parts on the workbench. I snag a washer, along with the toolbox and some plumbers goop, before heading back upstairs, keeping an ear open just in case. 

“Daniel?” The dog’s stopped barking so it must be someone we know. Hershey doesn’t tolerate strangers any better than I do. I kick the basement door shut, plunk the toolbox and the washer on the counter next to the sink and head across the kitchen. “Whose . . .” the question is cut short by a strangled sound I’m positive couldn’t have come from me, “ . . . here?” I blink - blink again - and snap my mouth shut. 

Given the line of work I’m in hallucinations have practically become S.O.P. on the job. But I’m not in the corridors of the SGC, or off-world. I’m standing in my own entryway and I’ve got the whole nine yards - full blown visual and auditory hallucinations. Man, oh man, would McKinsey have a field day with this one.

“Hello, Jack,” my father says in greeting, giving the dog a last pat as he pushes up off the floor from a semi-kneeling position.

I don’t say anything. I’m trying to decide if I’m having one of those ghosts of Christmas past moments - before Thanksgiving. 

I haven’t seen my parents in ten years. 

Ten years, five months, and eleven days to be exact - since Charlie’s funeral. Funny how the brain can calculate that at the drop of the hat, but can’t manage to wrap around Carter’s explanation of how we burrow through space while traveling through an imaginary wormhole. 

Daniel sidesteps over to me and wraps an arm around my leg. His fingers fist and he whips his hand behind his back when I reach for it as it’s headed north for chewing. I give him a cursory glance and let my hand descend to his shoulder instead, lifting my gaze back to my father – who’s watching this little by-play interestedly. 

“Sara didn’t tell us you’d remarried,” he observes.

“I’m not, he’s not mine,” is out of my mouth before I can censor it. Why is it we never outgrow the need to pacify our parents?

“I’m not?” Daniel parrots, huge blue eyes turning up to me anxiously. 

Shit. 

I swing Daniel up as if he weighs no more than a feather; the adrenalin pumping through me makes it easy. Whether he’s sensing my tension, or it’s his own unease, he presses his cheek to mine as I settle him on a hip. 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I reassure, kissing his temple. Frankly, I don’t give a damn what my father thinks. I’m more worried Daniel will misinterpret my knee jerk response. But there’s an unexpected spasm of pain around my heart as I look back at my dad. I assume, since he isn’t screaming at me, there’s a purpose to this visit.

My father’s eyes close briefly and he waits several heartbeats before answering. “I want to apologize.” To his credit, his teeth don’t clench as he says it. All O’Neill’s have a hard time with those particular words - I know - I inherited that trait.

For a long moment silence stretches between us. 

“What could you possibly want to apologize for?” I’m careful not to use any title, given our last conversation - if you can call it that. “Everything you said to me was true.” With effort I manage to keep my voice neutral. “It was my gun, my stupid mistake not locking the damn thing up, and I was drunk at my own son’s funeral.” 

Daniel’s cheek presses harder against mine, his arm around my neck tightens as well. 

It’s strange what the mind can do to the body. I’m transported back in time as surely as if the Stargate spit us out in the wrong year – facing my father across the length of another hall – except ten years ago it was the back hall of an Air Force chapel. I was pretty numb during most of that time, not feeling much of anything. So why do I feel nauseated now?

“How about . . . letting this go on for ten years?” He keeps his shoulders loose but a thin trickle of sweat drips from a hairline darker than mine. 

Ten years ago I hadn’t met Daniel; there wasn’t a grey hair on my head. 

Now his jaw does clench and my father’s gaze drops to the floor before he takes a deep breath and raises his eyes back to mine unflinchingly. “How about . . . for saying what I did in the first place?”

Yeah, and ten years ago my picture could have been in the dictionary under the definition of SOB. When my father ordered me not to show my face at the house until I was stone cold sober - I didn’t bother to do either – get sober, or show my face at the house. At that point I didn’t give a shit about anything, not even my father informing me I was no son of his. I was too inured in my own pain to give a damn. I wasn’t anyone’s father any more, I had no desire to be anyone’s son, or husband, either. 

When the opportunity landed in my lap to make the separation final, I accepted without reservation. Then when I purposely left Daniel and Skaara behind and found myself searching for Abydos from my rooftop observatory, a little regret snuck in. I’d left myself no family to turn to here on Earth. But I was still arrogant enough to get a perverse sort of pleasure out of refusing to bow under the weight of my father’s continued silence. 

I rub Daniel’s back, as much for my comfort as his. Curiously, I’ve often been in my father’s position with adult Daniel - apologizing for tearing strips off him because I’m angry, or hurt, or frightened. A sort of dëjà vu replaces the sense of experiencing a visual and auditory hallucination. 

“I unforgivably wounded the two people who mean the most to me,” my dad says on a sigh. “Your mother knew me well enough to know I would have made her life a living hell if she’d reached out to you against my wishes. For ten years she’s dragged me out here every Thanksgiving. Hoping, I’m sure, you would make the first move. I’m not doing this because your mother made me, in fact, she doesn’t even know I’m here. I ran this by Sara and she’s more than willing to be complicit in this little scheme of mine.” Speaking of d?jà vu – one hand comes out of his pocket and he scrubs it through his hair. “Will you come to Thanksgiving dinner?”

I’m floored. I’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve, but even I don’t have that much. “Let me get this straight - not only do you want me to throw our plans out the window, you want me to join my ex-wife’s family for dinner – on Thanksgiving?”

“No,” my father says quietly, “I would like you to join your family for Thanksgiving – at your ex-wife’s house.”

Daniel shifts in my arms, almost imperceptibly shaking his head. “I don’t want to go there, Jack,” he whispers and I can feel the small jaw harden against my own.

There’s only a couple of people on the face of this planet I let manipulate me. I’m holding one of them – the other is not my father. I give the simmering anger a few seconds to make up my mind – boil over or cool down? 

Daniel’s still shaking his head, now with a little more force. 

I manage to temper the sarcasm I’m inclined to respond with and say only, “Thanks, we already have plans.”

My father bows his head on another sigh and I realize he didn’t expect to meet with success on this mission.

I suppose if the universe hadn’t chosen to retrofit me with another family this might have had a different outcome. SG-1 may not be related by flesh and blood, but this family has been forged in the fires of hell, hammered into shape by the demands of lives lived in constant jeopardy, and tempered in the Goa’uld’d lakes of more than one alien world. It’s hard for blood families to compete with that kind of tempering. 

“May I bring your mother over here . . . maybe when it’s more convenient for you?”

Probably because our thought patterns come from the same gene pool I read the unspoken message plainly. “Daniel is not visiting,” I say flatly, “he lives here. Legally he’s mine, if not genetically.”

Both eyebrows go up. “You adopted?”

“Something like that,” I offer non-committally.

“I’m surprised.” He immediately looks uncomfortable.

Good, I’m glad he understands an apology doesn’t give him the right to pry into the last ten years of my life. 

“Not that . . .” he trails off. “I’m just surprised, being in the military and all you’d, uh . . . take on that challenge, especially by yourself.” 

Oh yeah, a not-so-subtle dig at all the times I left Sara to cope on her own during our marriage. 

The finger heads north again. 

“You’re only a challenge on odd days, aren’t you?” I rub my cheek against his hair and reach for his hand. Daniel wraps his fingers tightly around my thumb as he pulls my hand against his chest. His head goes down on my shoulder. 

As an adult, Daniel was never a great judge of character, anybody and everybody was a potential friend and ally until they proved otherwise. This incarnation of Daniel is much more discerning, a thing I’d really like to cultivate so if he does get big again, that particular trait sticks with him.

“Son?” My father’s hand comes out and I have to make a split second choice - forward or backward. “I’m sorrier than I can express.” 

Daniel lets go of my finger, I step forward and our hands clasp strongly. 

“I’ve regretted those words from the moment they left my mouth . . .”

Out of nowhere a laugh rumbles through me. “Oh, come off it, Dad, it was a least a week before you regretted it.”

He shakes his head, though a smile twitches the firm lips. “We’re more alike than you know, Johnny, but on that occasion your mother ground her heel into my instep so hard I limped for several days. I regretted those words for more than one reason.”

There’s something medicinal about shared laughter, its healing properties outstrip any other form of communication. Nervous tension dissolves under its influence, anxiety morphs into release, and my dad and I are hugging each other with Daniel squashed between us.

Maybe because I don’t need this, I can accept it as the gift it is - reclamation, renewal, a reforging of the ties that bind. 

My dad, when he straightens, has tears on his face. In all my life I have never seen him cry and I’m slightly awed he honors me with this additional gift of neither wiping them away, nor denying them. 

“Well,” he says, as if reading my mind, “maybe I’ve learned a few things over the last ten years.” 

He did not shed one tear at his grandson’s funeral, but then, neither did I. 

“Age will do that to you, Johnny, m’boy. It steals away many of the things we take for granted. In exchange though, we’re offered much wisdom if we’re wise enough to accept it.”

Whoa - philosophy from my pragmatic father? Who’d have thought? We step apart and the awkwardness envelopes us again. 

“What are you going to tell Mom?”

Dad observes us both for half a second, then says with another twitch of his lips, “Oh . . . you’re still too pigheaded to change your plans at a moments notice, but you’re doing well . . . and are willing to make allowances for an old man. Even extend an ounce of forgiveness under the right circumstances. I know she’ll want to see you as well . . .” he trails off, unwilling, not that I blame him, to be rebuffed again.

“Maybe we could, I don’t know, come by later in the afternoon? Maybe after dinner,” I offer by way of an olive branch.

A broad smile splits my father’s face. Years drop off, as if he suddenly got up close and personal with Daniel’s Fountain of Youth doohickey. 

“That would be great,” Dad says, as a paradoxical tear slips unheeded from the corner of his eye. “We’ll see you, then, on Thursday. You will bring Daniel?” 

I understand this isn’t a derogatory inquiry, but something he thinks he needs to prepare my mother for. And perhaps Sara. More than once it’s crossed my mind how much this incarnation of Daniel looks like Charlie. 

“He goes where I go, unless he doesn’t want to come.” 

He’s got my hand again and he’s managed to get that left ring finger in his mouth while still holding onto my thumb. He’s chewing.

“Thank you,” my father says, a humility in his voice I’ve never heard. 

I have Daniel to thank, in both incarnations, for what minor ability I’ve achieved in the dreaded ‘feelings’ department. I wonder if age is the only factor in my father’s transformation.

A side order of guilt tries to crash the party, but I’ll be damned it I give it house room. If I’m going to feel guilty, it will be over my mother – she’s the one who’s suffered the most through this. I distinctly remember thinking, the first time I stepped into the wormhole, at least she’ll have some closure. I was a real screw-up that year, couldn’t even get killing myself right. 

It’s thirty degrees outside, but we follow my dad out onto the porch. 

“You won’t back out on me now, will you? I don’t want to get your mother’s hopes up.”

“Should I call before I come?”

“No, that won’t be necessary – although, I suppose if you don’t your mother will spend the entire afternoon at the window.”

“I have Sara’s number.” It’s our old home phone number. She never changed it and she’s still on my notify list should something ever happen to me. “I’ll call.”

“That’s probably better.” Dad turns at the top of the steps. He has his keys out, jiggling them restlessly. “I feel . . . ten years lighter. I’ve missed you, son.”

Because Carter, Teal’c and Daniel filled that hole long ago, I can give him back the words I know he wants to hear with enough sincerity in my voice to make him believe I mean it. “I missed you too, Dad. I’ll see you on Thursday.” Then again, maybe it’s the truth. 

Daniel huddles against me as the wind whips around us. I offer to let him down so he can go back in the house, but he refuses, tucking his arms between us, and his face into my neck. 

My father flashes a look in the rearview mirror and I raise a hand. Daniel and I stand on the porch watching until the car turns the corner.

“Well,” I say to no one in particular, though Hershey whines and paws at me as I close the door behind us, “that was . . . fun.”

“Or not,” Daniel mumbles, channeling me. “No,” he says, when I try to put him down again. “I’m cold.”

“Then go get a sweatshirt. I’ve still got to fix our leaky faucet.”

“Can I help?”

“Sure, if you hurry. I’m not waiting for you to meander back to your bedroom, read a book or two, and then find your way back out to help,” I tease, giving him a helpful little push in the right direction when he finally lets me put him on his feet.

He’s back in record time, one arm shoved into an old Air Force sweatshirt of mine he dragged out of a pile of clothes I had pulled out to take to the Goodwill a couple of months ago. 

“Jack?” He can get it over his head but is unable to get his arm in the second sleeve by himself because there’s too much material. I’ve tried begging, bribery, and threats, the last of which he knows are entirely without merit, but he refuses to part with it. 

“Hershey’s laughing at you, you know,” I say as I fish for his arm to thread through the armhole. 

He looks like the Michelin Man with the sleeves bunched up in layers of rolls around his arms.

Hershey barks once, a short sharp bark that sounds a lot like a snort, which causes Daniel to shoot him a dirty look. “Stop that.”

With a snuffle, Hershey slides down to stretch out on the floor, chin on paws, so he can supervise the proceedings.

I gingerly ease myself down on my ass. 

Daniel folds in the middle, drops ass to ankles, and peers under the sink with me. “Can you fix it?” he wants to know.

There was an entire garbage bag of stuff that needed throwing out when I cleaned out under here. The salvageable items are lined up like miniature soldiers on the other side of the cabinet door, waiting to be returned to their damp, moldy cavern once I’ve resolved this problem. 

“We’ll see.” I have to get up to plug in the mechanic’s lamp. Daniel would do it in a heartbeat but he’d have to pull a chair over to get to the plug. 

Naturally, when I’m back in front of the sink, there’s nowhere to hang the damn thing. 

“Want me to hold it?” he asks, poking his head under my arm. 

For an instant I think - if I send him to watch TV, or read, or something - it will take half the time it would if I let him stay and help. 

On the other hand, I don’t want to be down here by myself ruminating on the last twenty minutes and I don’t care if it takes us the rest of the day. We don’t have anything else we have to do.

For the first fifteen minutes Daniel’s engrossed in what’s happening inside the cabinet - handing in tools, asking what this one does, how that one works, where all the water’s coming from when I soak myself. I knew we had a leak; I didn’t realize we also had a clog. 

“Ewwww, that doesn’t smell good,” he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

I just grunt and try to remember why I decided not to call the plumber for this job. A few minutes more pass while I fight with the damn u-joint, trying to get the rusted bolt to break loose. 

“Jack?”

“What?”

“How come I didn’t know you had a father?”

“Everybody has a father, Daniel.” I smack the stupid wrench with as much force as I can muster in this enclosed space. It doesn’t budge. “Shit.”

“What’s the matter?” He pokes his head inside the cupboard again.

“Move, please. I can’t see a thing with you blocking my light.”

“Oh, sorry.” He shuffles back, snags his feet in the too-large sweatshirt and tumbles over backwards with an oomph of surprise. 

Hershey’s on top of him in one bound, barking madly, thinking this is an invitation to play. 

“You okay?” I ask, beating on the wrench again. 

He didn’t hit hard enough to hurt anything, just kind of rolled like the little isopod he so often imitates. He lifts one knee at a time to drag the excess sweatshirt material out from under him, grabs the light he lost, then drops down on hands and knees and crawls back over.

“Did you hurt yourself?” I ask again, since he’s rubbing the back of his head.

“Not really,” he grins, “just a little bump. Did I look funny?”

“With your feet in the air and your ass over your head? Yeah, kinda sorta.”

“To bad Sam wasn’t here with her phone to take pictures,” Daniel chortles. “Hey,” he widens his eyes as though he’s just had a wonderful thought. “We could call Sam. I bet she’d know how to fix this.”

Brat. 

If the angelic smile on his face is anything to go on, I wouldn’t bet against his channeling adult Daniel’s snarkiness right at the moment. 

“Give me the other wrench.” I hold out my hand. “No, the other one, the Siler-sized wrench. That’s it.” I’ve got just enough room to maneuver it behind the wrench now on the bolt so tight I may have to call Siler to get it off. 

And as usual, Daniel hasn’t lost track of his end of the conversation. “How come I didn’t know you still have a dad?”

“Well . . .” Naturally enough the rusted bolt breaks loose just as I open my mouth to answer, along with the rusted top of the u-joint, and I’m spitting cold, smelly water along with trying to wipe it out of my eyes. A kitchen towel is thrust abruptly into my hands as I slide out from under the sink, coughing. “Thanks.” I scrub at my face and grimy hands. “Guess it’s no worse than what we eat regularly in the Mess.” Though I turn the towel over and use the back side to scrap what feels like a layer of slime out of my mouth. “Your adult incarnation knew I still have a dad.”

“He did?”

I’ve turned on my knees and am shining the light back up under the cabinet, trying to assess the damage and whether or not I should call the plumber now or wait until I’ve baptized myself again. Something about the tone of voice, though, makes me look over my shoulder. 

“Yeah, you knew. You were aware of that . . . before.” 

Interesting, Daniel’s separated himself from his ‘adult’ self. He’s chewing his lip. “I don’t remember knowing that.”

“That’s not surprising,” I pry off the bottom bolt and wriggle loose the u-joint. “There are a lot of things you don’t remember.” 

And I hope it stays that way.

“Oh.” He eyes the pipe in my hand. “Are we going to Home Depot?”

“If we want to use the sink anytime today, guess we have to, huh?” 

“Goody.” Daniel likes going to Home Depot. “You gonna change clothes before we go?”

“You don’t want to go with me like this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t care, but I don’t think it would be very comfortable going out all wet like that in the cold.”

”You’re probably right. I think I’ll go shower off this gunk I’m covered with before I change clothes.” I haul myself to my feet using the sink counter for leverage, wipe my hands again on the now filthy towel, and head for the bedroom and the sanctuary of my bathroom.

“Jack?”

“Hmmm?” I look over my shoulder to find I’m the head of the local parade. Daniel’s zigzagging down the hall like Tigger on a pogo stick, hopping from one point to the next, with Hershey, tail wagging good-naturedly, bringing up the rear.

“How long’s it been since you’ve seen your dad?”

“Years.”

Daniel stops hopping and scrambles to come up with me as I turn into the bedroom. 

I snatch my hand out of his reach when he tries to latch on to it. “Ack! Don’t! I’m filthy, Daniel.”

He reaches out to stop me and his hand lands on cold, wet t-shirt. “Oooo,” he says, snatching his own hand back. Instead, he plants himself in front of me, fists his hands on his miniature hips and looks up with a fierce scowl. “I remember when you let me go with the dog lady the first time. But I don’t remember how long I was gone. Was it a long time?”

“You mean when you went with Oma on the island?”

“Stop it,” he tells me, in his best talking-to-the-dog tone. “You know I don’t mean the island. Before that; the time you didn’t go with me. Was I gone for years?”

I’m cold and wet and smelly and I haven’t been fishing, which is the only good excuse for being cold and wet and smelly. But there’s a seven-year-old-forty-year-old standing in front of me trying to make sense of what he heard this afternoon between father and son. He can’t wrap his seven-year-old mind around the fact that father and son might not want to see each other for a very long time.

“Well?” he demands. “Did you wait years to get me back?”

I sigh and give myself a moment by pulling the t-shirt over my head. “You were gone a year, Daniel. Since I had no idea you were coming back, a year seemed like a very long time to me.” I ball it up and pitch it into the bathroom. I’ll have to do laundry tonight. I hope the sink isn’t connected to the washer, or we have a working sink again.

“A year? I didn’t see you for a whole year? I wouldn’t have liked that at all,” Daniel states emphatically. “Are you sure it was that long?”

“Can I get in the shower?” 

Daniel steps out of my way, but shadows me into the bathroom, planting himself on the closed toilet as I strip and step into the shower. So much for sanctuary. I vaguely remember Sara asking me to put a lock on the bathroom door when Charlie was about three.

I turn on the water and grab the shampoo. “I’m sure. And it wasn’t me who got you back – you did that all by yourself.”

“Probably because I missed you,” he snorts. 

Time has no relativity for this Daniel; not that the adult Daniel was a great time manager. On any given day though, two hours may seem like two days to this one, which is why, more often than not by the end of any meeting I’m in, this Daniel is in my lap. 

“How could you go for years without seeing your dad?”

Thankfully this is the real point of the conversation, not what he does or doesn’t remember about how long, or what happened while he was ascended. 

It’s becoming clearer and clearer all his memories are intact, though for the most part still subliminal. 

I’m dreading dealing with the whole scenario leading up to his ascension. If I were smart I’d be thinking up strategies now for how to deal with it, instead of trying to wing it in the moment. That’s what I’m best at – strategic planning – but somehow strategic planning and a downsized Daniel don’t seem to go together.

“Did you drown in there?” Daniel inquires.

“Sorry, ears full of water. What did you say?” It might buy me a few more seconds of pondering how to explain to Daniel why for once in my life I followed orders. 

“How could you go years without seeing your dad?”

“You and I have talked a little about Charlie, remember?”

“Sure I remember; he fixed his glove for me and let me use it.”

“Uhm – right. How could I have forgotten that?” We did three months of Little League this summer with Charlie’s old baseball glove. 

I sluice water after soap, turn off the shower and grab a towel off the rack. “Well, at Charlie’s funeral my Dad and I sort of had a fight. You remember how mad you were at me when I wouldn’t let you go see Hershey because you’d left the yard without permission?”

Daniel develops a sudden interest in his tennis-shoed feet. “Uhm hmm.”

“You went several days without wanting to talk to me. In fact, you went out of your way to avoid me as much as possible.”

“Yes, but I missed you terribly,” he says with conviction, hopping down to follow me into the bedroom.

“You were already mad at me because you’d asked and asked and I refused to take you to see the dog in the first place, right?”

“Well . . . yeah.” Daniel sprawls himself on the bed so he doesn’t have to look at me. 

“I was already mad at the world because of what had happened to Charlie. Plus I was pretty mad at myself for not locking up that gun. Remember how you felt when you thought it was your fault we’d lost the last championship game this summer?”

He nods as he rolls to his stomach and props his chin in his hands. 

I exchange my towel for shorts and head to the closet for clothes. “That’s sorta how I felt. Only it really was my fault and there was a lot more at stake than a championship game. Someone died because of my bad choice. If I’d locked that gun up the way I should have, Charlie would never have gotten his hands on it. He’d be alive today.”

“You tell me to stay away from guns and to leave things alone all the time.”

“Yes, and most of the time you obey, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But not all the time.”

“Ummm, noooooo.”

“So Charlie made a bad choice and it cost him his life. You made a bad choice and it cost your going to see the dog. In both cases, I made a bad choice first.” I sit down on the edge of the bed to pull on jeans. “In the scheme of things, neither consequence seems fair, does it?”

Daniel shakes his head.

“That’s because life’s not fair. When Charlie died I was so angry with myself I would have been just as glad to be dead.”

“And sad?”

“And sad,” I agree, ruffling his hair. 

He ducks out of it and I get up to get a shirt. “So there was me, angry with myself and the universe, and there’s my dad, who’s also pretty angry with me for being a stupid idiot, and some very ugly things were said.” I pull a sweatshirt on over my t-shirt and turn around to find the dog sprawled on the bed next to Daniel. “Hershey, get off the bed.”

The dog opens one eye, rolls over, and sticks all four feet in the air. Daniel’s been teaching him to roll over and play dead and the damn dog has figured out he can get mileage out of doing it without being told.

“Hershey, you know Jack doesn’t like you sleeping on his bed. Get down,” Daniel admonishes, all the while petting the dog’s belly. 

What a pair of con artists.

“Get down, both of you. And thanks so much, Sport, for keeping your dirty feet off my bed.”

“My shoes haven’t been anywhere Hershey hasn’t been in his paws,” Daniel smirks. 

“Which is exactly why I don’t want to the dog on my bed,” I point out, though Daniel loftily ignores me.

“We used to say ugly things to each other all the time but it never kept us from being friends,” he says as he slides off the bed. 

Yes, it did. 

“Go get your coat on,” I order, heading to the kitchen to retrieve the rusted pipe. Although I can describe this thingy perfectly, visuals always seem to work better with the Home Depot employees. We head out to the garage through the kitchen door, Hershey padding along beside Daniel. 

“Didn’t we?” 

“Is that something you remember?” I hit the garage door opener, close the door behind us, and head for the truck, waiting to turn on the engine until the kid and the dog scramble up on the back seat.

“No, but you’ve said before we used to fight a lot.”

“I have?” I back out, hit the remote again, and wait in the driveway for the garage door to close. 

“Haven’t you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I’ve thought it lots of times during conversations, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never said anything, since I’ll do anything in my power to prevent those memories from surfacing for as long as I possibly can.

”We didn’t?”

“We never fought like my dad and I fought at Charlie’s funeral.” How’s that for suitably vague? On one level it’s even true. We never fought with the intention of purposely inflicting lasting harm, though the cumulative affect began to eat away at Daniel without my realizing it.

Daniel sighs. “I miss my dad. I miss you when you’re gone. I don’t understand how you could go that long without seeing your dad if he was alive.”

“Some things aren’t understandable, Daniel. Some things you just have to accept and move on. To most people the idea of aliens and a Stargate is science fiction still. Until you’ve gone through the Gate it’s sort of unbelievable. To us, because we live with it every day, we can’t understand how other people could possibly not understand . . . but they don’t.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Hey, mark this day down in your calendars, folks. Daniel Jackson admitted Jack O’Neill is right about something.”

“Ha ha,” Daniel says, as if the humor hasn’t gone right over his head. “Are we going over there on Thursday?”

“I am. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll send Hershey with you, he’ll protect you.”

* * *

“Anything you’d like to talk about, Colonel?” General Hammond takes the listing glass of ginger ale out of my hand and steps back to set it on the fireplace mantel before rejoining me at the window. “You’ve been unusually jittery all day, Jack. Something bothering you?”

The view from the windows on either side of the massive stone fireplace looks out over the valley. In the fall the aspens turn bright yellow and if you stand on the porch on a breezy day you can hear them talking to each other. 

Daniel thinks it sounds like angels whispering. Being a lot more grounded in reality, I only hear leaves rustling, but if you put a symphony orchestra behind it, the piece would have a sound like nothing else on Earth.

I shove my now empty hand in the pocket of my slacks. “I need to go, sir. It’s been a pleasure as always.” I’ve made the phone call; they’re expecting me.

Have you ever noticed how meaningless holidays are if you don’t have family to share them with? I’d much rather stay right here in my comfort zone, with my current family, but for some reason my long dead conscience has reawakened, making it impossible to back out of this without feeling like a total cad. I probably have Daniel to thank for that too.

“It’s early yet,” George says, with a curious glance at me. “Daniel’s in the middle of a chess game with Cassie.”

“Daniel’s not going with me.” I bestir myself to move, otherwise I’ll stand here the rest of the afternoon dreading this confrontation. I just need to find my insouciant façade and be on my way.

“Jack?”

“My parents are in town. My father came by the house the other day. To offer an olive branch, sir.” 

You don’t spend close to a dozen holidays together without getting to know something about the folks you’re sharing with. 

“Ahh,” the imperturbable gentleman sighs. “Good luck then. Will you come back for Daniel?”

“He’s going home with Carter and Teal’c. If I’m not home, they’ll stay with him until I get there.”

“You’re welcome to leave him here, you know.”

“Thanks, sir. I imagine they’ll stay until the rest of the gang leaves.”

“I’ll get your coat.”

He’s a good man, our General. I’ve served under the best and the worst; Hammond definitely rates under the best. He’s light years ahead of most of his contemporaries in his ability to command by respect.

I’m hardly out to the truck when the front door opens and the rest of my team tumbles out, laughing and huffing so their breath freezes and hangs in suspended animation, shattering only when they pass through their self-made clouds as they drag on coats. 

Yeah, yeah, only Carter and Daniel tumble out. Teal’c follows at a more sedate pace, but he’s making cloud formations with his breath too

“Why didn’t you tell us you were leaving?” Daniel demands, looking around. “Wait! Hershey!” 

We all turn at the sound of wild barking and the front door opens again, releasing a large, frantic ball of fluff that races across the front lawn as if he might be left behind.

“Forget someone?” the General inquires, smiling. “He sure seems to think so.”

Hershey does a 360 around Daniel and races to the truck where he puts his paws up on the running board and waits, looking at us over his shoulder.

“I thought you weren’t going with me.”

“We’re all going, Colonel,” Carter announces, handing her keys to Teal’c. Daniel’s already climbing into the truck. “Can we leave my car at your house?”

“Uh, what if you’re not invited?”

“Too bad?” She smiles benevolently as she heads around the front of the truck and climbs in too.

“T? You got a hat?”

From his back pocket, Teal’c snaps out a green plaid Irish walking cap. He proceeds to adjust it on his head and pulls it down to cover his tattoo. He plants his feet in his usual wide stance, clasps his hands behind his back, and turns his chin slightly in profile. “Do I not exhibit the family resemblance?”

For a full ten seconds I stand staring at him. “Oy,” I smack my forehead harder than intended in my overzealous relief and see stars for a second. “Cousin Murray, a long lost . . .” I’m totally at a loss for words.

“Antecedent,” Teal’c replies, turning his head to look me in the eye. “So protractedly absent as to be almost alien.” With a perfectly straight face, he adds solemnly, “Have you not said repeatedly, we are family? Do you presume, O’Neill, we would abandon you in your hour of need?”

This is really bad for my ego – to be so humbled twice in less than forty-eight hours. Deep breaths, O’Neill, deep breaths, this too will pass. 

“Uh . . . we’ll follow you to the house. Carter says we’re leaving her car there.” I swing into the cab of the truck a little bemused.

So it takes forty-five minutes, instead of the thirty I suggested, by the time we’re walking up the driveway passed my parent’s rental car, which is parked next to a brand new Mercedes. 

Carter whistles as she runs her finger along the edge of the hood. “Nice,” she says, grinning at me over her shoulder. “Looks like she married for money this time.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Carter.”

“Any time, sir.” 

Daniel grabs my hand, Teal’c falls in behind, and Carter falls in on my left. Hershey flanks Daniel.

“Kids? We’re not all gonna fit on the porch.”

“Can me and Hershey ring the bell?”

Before I can answer, the front door swings inward. The F302 with the afterburners kicked in for hyperspace jump looks like a turtle compared to the blur that is my mother. 

I don’t have time to say more than “Mom,” before she’s in my arms, hugging so hard I think she’s going to break ribs. She says nothing, but neither does she let go, so I wrap my arms around her and hold on through the storm.

The years drop away like I’ve just stepped into the Way Back Time Machine. It’s not my arms around my mother, but hers around me. I’m little more than Daniel’s current age and I’ve just come in from school. Before I get the milk and cookies waiting on the table, I have to submit, with good grace no less, to being hugged by my mother.

“Mom, you remember all those years of milk and cookies after school?”

She nods against my neck, but still says nothing.

“I liked the hugs way better than the milk and cookies.”

A rain of tears is already sliding down inside my collar. They come faster for a moment and my own mingle with hers - perhaps in an act of contrition. I don’t know, but I do know I have Daniel to thank for this too. 

Good thing I never cared what the neighbors thought. We’re having this reunion in the front yard where the entire neighborhood can watch. They all know both of us, I’m sure Sara will hear about it, despite the fact they ought to be glued to their televisions watching bowl games and stuffing themselves with left over turkey, not lurking at their windows spying on us. 

When my mother finally pulls back, she wipes not only her eyes, but mine as well, which of course, causes mine to flow faster. 

“What happened to your hair?” She smiles mistily, reaching one hand up to flutter through my very short, very grey hair. “You’ve gone silver. Your father’s is white; he dyes it.”

Her hair has gone silver too and there are deep lines embedded in flesh drawn taunt over angular cheekbones. Lines of sorrow bracket her eyes and mouth; lines I put there in my stupid arrogance. I pull her to me and hold her tight again in thankfulness for this moment of grace. 

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I offer in a fractured whisper.

“Oh no, honey, please don’t be. We all share the blame equally in this. It takes family to do things to each other we wouldn’t do to our worst enemies.” She draws back again, but keeps hold of the arm I have around her waist. Her other hand comes up to cup my cheek as she studies my face. “Has something good happened to you, Jonathan O’Neill?”

How could she possibly see that in my face?

A finger taps my cheek, “No hon, it’s not in your face, I see it in your heart.” She laughs ever so gently, gives me another quick, fierce hug and kisses my cheek. “Don’t look so surprised, Jack, I could always read you like a book. Can you tell me about it?” She threads an arm through mine and when I look around I see my team has deserted me.

“I can do you one better, Mom.” We head up the sidewalk to the front door. “You’re about to meet them. They’re . . . my team. But we’ve been together for nearly ten years so we’re somewhat closer than your average military team. I can’t tell you a thing about what we do, it’s classified. And please don’t jump to any conclusions. For the record - I’m not married, Daniel is under my guardianship, and Murray . . . well, Murray claims he’s a distant family member on Dad’s side, twice-removed.”

“And you’re going to tell your father he claims he’s a distant relative from my side, twice-removed?”

Busted! I never could keep secrets from her; my mom has a built-in lie detector. “Think he’ll see the humor in it?”

“Your father’s changed, Jack. Charlie’s death took the starch right out of him. He’s a lot more human now.”

I stop in my tracks. Because she has her arm through mine and is hanging on me much like Daniel does, my mother stops too. She’s a tall woman, but she still has to look up to my 6’2”. 

“I’m sorry, dear, do you not talk about Charlie’s death?”

“Ahhh . . . uhm . . . well, yeah.” 

Just not with my mother – ever – and I’m sort of taken back by the casualness of her statement. I’m still at ten years ago in my relationship with her.

She pats my arm. “Oh don’t worry, the awkwardness will wear off quickly once we’ve caught up on each other’s lives. I’ve missed you so . . . but come inside. I’m always surprised to find your weather so much like ours at home in Chicago. We get that lake affect weather. I suppose because you’re in the mountains your weather is much the same. Do you like it here? I didn’t expect you to stay after you and Sara were divorced. I thought you’d go back to gallivanting around the world again, but Sara says you work out of Cheyenne Mountain now. Are you with NORAD these days? Do you still travel a lot? Tell me what you can about your job and your new team.”

“Whoa, Mom, you sound like Daniel.” Without realizing it, I’m in the foyer. Up the stairs and to the right is my son’s bedroom. 

My mother’s hand tightens around my arm. “I’m sorry, Jack, but don’t let it spoil today, please?”

My heart is in my throat - literally. It’s beating so hard it may be about to jump out of my throat. One of the last times I was in this place I was an arm’s length from blowing my brains out. Excuse me while I take a little side trip down It’s a Wonderful Life Lane. If the Air Force had been a few minutes later, I would never have met Daniel, or Carter, or Teal’c. 

While my stuff wasn’t exactly on the curb when I came back from Abydos, Sara made it perfectly plain I couldn’t board here anymore. And though I was significantly better, you don’t shake off that kind of depression in a handful of days. 

I spent the better part of that first year Daniel was gone figuring out who Jack O’Neill was since he wasn’t a father or a husband anymore. The fall back had always been Jack O’Neill, the special ops Colonel, but I’d only been re-upped for that one mission. They sent me back to my peaceful retirement as soon as Kawalski and I were done lying our heads off about blowing Abydos to kingdom come.

On an unsteady breath I turn away from the scene and a small, warm hand creeps into mine. I look down to find Daniel looking up at me. There’s a huge question mark on his face. He clamps his fingers around mine as I try to withdraw my hand, letting go only when he realizes I want to pick him up. I slide my hands under his arms, swing him up and hug him before turning with him, back to my mother. 

“Mom, I’d like you to meet my ward, Daniel Jackson. Daniel, this is my mother, Maggie May O’Neill.” 

“How do you do, Daniel Jackson?” 

Daniel takes the hand she offers and for a second his eyes widen. I expect he’s gotten a jolt from the electrical current my mother seems to transmit. “Only Teal’c calls me Danieljackson, everyone else just calls me Daniel.”

“I see. Who’s Teal’c?” My mother lilts the name as Daniel blushes ten shades of red at his faux pas. 

Since at some time during the remainder of this afternoon, Teal’c is sure to call him Danieljackson, I’d best set the record straight before we get any more mired in this small subterfuge. 

“Tilk is Murray’s last name.” I give it a less exotic spin in an effort to decrease the alien sound. “It’s one of those guy things, Mom, ya know, we always call each other by our last names.”

Daniel huffs a very small sigh of relief and rolls his eyes, accompanied by an elfin shrug. “I always forget,” he says, smiling shyly at my mother.

“Oh my,” my mother comments wryly, with understanding beyond this short acquaintance. “I bet he’s a handful.”

“Youbetcha, but he’s my handful.” Since I have him captive I tickle him so he giggles. I’d really like that sound to become an integral part of adult Daniel’s vocal expressions if he gets resized again. Yeah, I know, it could sound a little weird coming from a forty-year-old, but that sound translates to a safe and happy Daniel Jackson in my lexicon.

Daniel leans into my ear. “I like your mother better,” he whispers in that seven-year-old, no-one-can-hear-me-if-I-whisper voice.

My mother just smiles and leads the way into the living room. 

“Where’s Hershey?” 

My father’s captured Carter, no surprise there, he’s always had an eye for the ladies; however, Teal’c appears to be deep in conversation with . . . uhm, Richard? No, that’s not right, Roger? Crap, what is Sara’s new husband’s name?

“Another dog lives here and the blond lady let them both out in the back yard. She has a beagle, Jack, named Luke Skywalker.”

Lance. His name is Lance. Now what’s their last name? 

“Do you have a dog, Daniel?”

“Hershey’s my dog; he just came to live with us a few weeks ago. He’s a Bernese Mountain Dog, they’re from Switzerland where they were originally bred for . . .” Daniel trails off when I give him a squeeze, frowning at me. “What?”

“You don’t think that might be a little more information than is needed for the situation?”

“Your mom’s interested.”

“Her eyes are already starting to glaze over, she’s my mother, ya know.”

“Jack, don’t tease,” my mother chides, smiling. “Of course I’m interested. What were they usually bred for, Daniel?”

“Work dogs,” Daniel says proudly, giving me an I-told-you-so look. “They pulled carts of produce to market and stuff.”

“I see, so does your dog pull you around in a cart?”

“He’s still a puppy. But Jack says he’s gonna be a monster when he’s full grown.”

“Oh, I want to be sure and meet your dog. What did you say his name was?” Mom steers us toward a sofa. “Can I get you anything to drink? Something to eat? How about some pie?”

“Hershey,” Daniel inserts, not about to be left out of the conversation, but creating chaos with his apparent non-sequitur. 

“Mom, we just ate an hour ago. I guarantee none of us are hungry.”

“Then I’ll just send the pie home with you. Would you like some Hershey Kisses, Daniel? I think I saw some in one of the cupboards.”

Fortunately Daniel’s following the conversation, I just look at my mother in bewilderment and ask, “What pie?”

However, Daniel’s laughter trills out merrily. “No,” he grins, “my dog’s name is Hershey because he used to like Hershey Kisses. Jack says I can’t give them to him anymore though, because they make him sick.” The grin morphs into a frown. “Isn’t that terrible? Not being able to eat chocolate because it makes you sick?”

My mother nods in sympathy. “That would be horrid. Do you like chocolate?”

“I love chocolate,” Daniel says with relish.

“Me too,” my mother says, smiling again. “How about later, you and I go see what we can find in Sara’s cupboards.”

“If Hershey’s not around I can go with you. I don’t think he knows he’s not supposed to like it, so I feel kinda guilty now, if I eat chocolate around him. He just looks at me with these big, sad eyes . . .” Daniel rounds his eyes, sags his chin and pursues his lips, imitating the look the dog has perfected, then sighs. “I just can’t eat it in front of him anymore.”

“Oh my, what a sacrifice you’ve made for your friend. I hope he knows how well you love him.”

”He does,” Daniel confides, “I tell him all the time.”

“How old are you, Daniel?” 

“I’m almost eight.”

“Try again, Sport.”

“All right, I’m almost seven-and-a-half.” He squirms to be put down. “Can I go look at the piano in the other room?”

“Piano?”

“There’s a piano in the conservatory,” Sara offers from across the living room and I get the feeling she’s been watching us. “Certainly, you can go look at it, Daniel.” She’s sitting beside her husband, a long-haired, forty-something, artsy-fartsy looking type. 

I vaguely remember someone mentioning the guy she married is a concert pianist.

“Hey, don’t touch anything,” I yell after Daniel. Yeah right, like that’s going to work. I start after him, only to be stopped by Sara.

“He’s fine, Jack. He can’t hurt anything just by touching. Is he Daniel Jackson’s son?”

“Uhm, nephew,” I respond, torn between following Daniel, or following Sara’s instincts. She doesn’t know Daniel. Okay, she doesn’t know this Daniel . . . never mind . . . this is already too complicated. 

“Where is Dr. Jackson?”

Oh shit. See, this is the reason I should have done this alone. The fact that Daniel’s my ward is already established with both my parents. We probably would have spun it differently for Sara if we’d met her alone. And Daniel’s being my ward instead of his uncle’s is going to raise questions in Sara’s mind. 

“Sorry,” I shrug ineffectually. “Classified.”

“Jack?” Sara scoots to the edge of the sofa. “Is he all right?”

Dammit. There are days when I hate the secrecy of this job. “He’s fine.”

The look she gives me says she doesn’t believe a word of it. But it’s true - he is fine. Daniel, in the incarnation he currently inhabits, is a healthy, happy seven-year-old.

“He sure does look a lot like his uncle,” Sara remarks.

“Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” Hey, I’m glad she sees the resemblance to Daniel instead of Charlie. “What’s this about a conservatory?” I ask, in an effort to change the subject. 

“We’ve added on - a studio and the conservatory, to accommodate Cancel’s practicing.” She pronounces his name, Can-sell. 

Sounds a little bit like Lance, doesn’t it?

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” 

It’s upscaled, if that’s a word - no longer military shabby chic - which just goes to show what a little money and good taste can accomplish. It doesn’t look designed, it looks like a home - one you might find on the cover of Architectural Digest or inside the pages of Better Homes and Gardens - but a home none-the-less.

Sara leaves the sofa next to her husband and joins my mother on the opposite sofa. I sit down carefully on a fragile looking piece of furniture I don’t have a name for, to be near my mother.

While conversations shift and conversational partners orbit around the satellite of my father, enthroned in the room’s only comfortable looking chair, I pretty much stay stationary at my own end of the room. 

It’s not really a conscious decision, but anger like we’ve lived with for ten years doesn’t disappear over night, or even over forty-eight hours. We’re not avoiding each other, just . . . being a little cautious.

Throughout the afternoon Daniel repeatedly drifts back over to me, almost always appearing as some new pang of guilt or remorse stabs at me. I’ve probably mentioned more than once how connected we are. The big eyes, the small hand patting my cheek, miniature fingers curving around my wrist - all serve as a source of comfort. By the end of the evening I’ve moved to the sofa and he’s curled up in my lap sound asleep. 

“He’s good for you, Jack,” my mother says quietly, brushing a gentle hand through his hair. She’s sitting next to me on the sofa, an arm twined around mine and her head on my shoulder. “You have a wonderful family.”

I haven’t used that word at all during the course of the afternoon. I’ve deliberately bitten my tongue on more than one occasion where it would have been appropriate. The way we interact speaks for itself; I don’t need to rub it in. On the other hand, I am glad they see it. My father has remarked similarly.

“You will stay in touch now? Do you have an email address?” 

Carter comes to perch on the arm of the sofa next to us. “You’ll never reach him that way, the Colonel checks his email only as a precaution, ma’am, never with enthusiasm. But he always answers his cell.”

“The words O’Neill and technology have never been interchangeable,” my mother agrees mildly. “You’re so like your father, Jonathan. I, however, decided I wasn’t going to let technology pass me by. I have a laptop, docking station, PDA and an IPod,” she adds with more than a touch of pride. “Of course I haven’t quite figured out how to download music to it yet, but I’m working on it. Plus, I’ve just added a router to my system so I now have wireless at home.”

Every conversation in the room stops. The silence is deafening as both Carter and my mother look at me with faint smiles of superiority.

“Daniel’s asleep, he’s not available to translate all that for me, but feel free to continue this conversation I haven’t the slightest expectation of understanding.” 

“Several words of more than two syllables, sir; you’re improving,” Carter says with an unabashed grin

Daniel’s not my only brat. 

“Just remember, payback is hell, Major.” My age-appropriate kid snuffles and I shift him to a more comfortable position. 

“Do you want to put Daniel down upstairs, Jack?” Sara asks.

I glance at my watch and see it’s closing in on 2300 hours. “Thanks, but we need to go. Kids?” I include both Carter and Teal’c - excuse me, Murray - in my glance. 

I think long lost Cousin Murray has imbibed something alcoholic this evening; he’s now sitting smiling beatifically at Sara’s husband. Apparently the impromptu concert Cancel and Sara put on made a real impression on our resident Jaffa. 

Mom told me Cancel is trying to talk Sara into doing a public concert with him. She took up the harp after her dad died a few years ago. I understand it’s how she met this husband; she agreed to be the entertainment for a friend’s hoity-toity dinner party. Guess it was the kind of dinner party where the help’s allowed to mingle with the guests. 

“Meow,” my mother says softly in my ear, raking her fingers lightly down the sleeve of my dress shirt. 

“You can’t possibly know what I was thinking.”

Mom just raises that O’Neill eyebrow. “Sara deserves every bit of happiness she can glean.”

“Hey, I’m glad for her.”

“Genuinely, I’m pleased to see. You were never a hard man, Jack O’Neill. Circumstances may have caused you to behave that way occasionally in your life, but underneath that polished military exterior beats a heart of gold.”

“Don’t you dare tell the rest of my team,” I hiss at her.

“As if they don’t already know,” she snaps back, and laughs, unable to keep up the façade. 

I’m much better at it. I keep the frown firmly in place until she pokes a knuckle unerringly in my side and dances her fingers over the only spot on my body that’s ticklish. 

“Uncle!” I surrender immediately. “Mom! Hey, you’re gonna wake up Daniel!” 

This earns an immediate cease fire from my ruthless opponent. When he stirs, she leans against my arm and reaches to smooth a hand over his hair. The only thing that soothes Daniel quicker than someone running a hand through his hair is the swing at the hospital. 

Which reminds me, I still need to look into getting one of those things.

“Hey, Maggie? Did you bring your laptop with you?” Carter asks as she turns back to us. “If there’s some place to connect to the internet I could show you quickly how to download music to your IPod,” 

“Really?” My mother lights up like the proverbial Christmas tree. She’s obviously not shy about accepting a helping hand when it presents itself. “Sara added wireless when she and Cancel did all the remodeling. Do you have a few minutes more, Jack?” she asks, straightening. “I could run upstairs and get my computer.”

“Sure, we only have to be at work tomorrow.”

“Oh,” her face falls. “Early, I suppose? What do you with Daniel while you’re at work?”

“He goes with me. We’re home schooling him. And yes, we have to be there early. Carter? This is only going to take a few minutes?”

“Yes, sir. Showing her how won’t be a complicated process. If your mother can set up her own wireless system, she’ll catch on like . . .” Carter snaps her fingers, “that, sir.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter to Daniel where he sleeps. Go on, do it. Just remember, if I’m cranky tomorrow it’s because I didn’t get enough sleep.”

My mother bounds off the couch as if she’s Daniel’s age instead of nearly seventy. In minutes the dining room table has been turned into a mini show-and-tell and I hear exclamations of “I didn’t know it could do that!” Followed by, “You’re kidding! It’s that simple?” 

“So, Dad, what do you know about plumbing?”

“Still having trouble with that leaky faucet?”

I raise an eyebrow. I’ve known all my life my mom has what the Irish call ‘the sight’. I had no idea my dad can do it too.

He chuckles. “Daniel told me you were in the basement looking for washers to repair the leaky faucet.”

“That would be the one.”

“Changing out the washer didn’t fix it?”

“Actually I never got around to changing out the washer. I found out it’s leaking under the sink as well.”

“Want me to come around in the morning and take a look at it?”

“Would you? I couldn’t get a plumber out two days before Thanksgiving and the three I called said they’re booked for a week after the holiday as well. Our kitchen sink is kinda in pieces right now.”

“If you’re working tomorrow, what about Saturday? We could come by, have a look, maybe go out to breakfast if it doesn’t take the two of us too long to fix it. We’d like to see you again before we leave.”

Damn, I forgot. We’re scheduled off-world tomorrow on a two-day mission. Daniel’s supposed to stay with the Doc and Cassie for the next two days. 

“Carter?”

“We can reschedule, sir,” she answers from somewhere in the depths of the dining room. “Monday should be no problem.”

What? Is everybody channeling my mother tonight?

“Well, then, we could probably call in sick if you could come tomorrow.”

“How about we come tomorrow and work on the plumbing, and we all go out to breakfast on Saturday?”

Carter and my mother reappear in the archway leading into the dining room. 

“Breakfast Saturday? Carter? Murray?”

“Are you sure you want us tagging along?” Carter asks, heading for the hall where she gathers all our coats off the coat rack.

“What a wonderful idea, John! Sara and Cancel have to come too,” Mom enthuses. 

“You go,” Sara says, wrapping an arm around her husband’s waist and leaning into him. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and rests his chin on her head. “Saturday is usually the only day we have to sleep in.”

I used do that with her. Whoa! Back away from the memories, Jack. Don’t even go there; not your privilege anymore. 

“We’ll go for brunch,” Dad offers.

“You go without us,” Sara demurs. “This is your time with Jack, make the most of it.”

Carter hands Murray his coat, pausing to make sure he can get it on, and ends up putting the rest down to help him. His coordination is just enough off he’s having great difficulty finding the appropriate holes to put his arms through.

“Your libations appear to have engendered an exquisite feeling of euphoria,” Teal’c pronounces, touching a finger to his cap.

I offer up a quick prayer that he won’t accidentally knock it askew. We might have a whole new show-and-tell.

“It has been my immense pleasure to have at last achieved your acquaintance, Cousin John.” Teal’c gives his classic regal nod, except the gesture tips him off-balance and only Carter’s quick reflexes keep him from taking a nose dive

“And I, yours, Murray. If you’re ever in Chicago I hope you’ll stop around so I can introduce you to the rest of the family in town.”

I exchange a glance with my mother, who smiles almost as beatifically as Teal’c. “I introduced him to your father as his long lost Cousin Murray while you were out with Daniel meeting Luke.”

I just nod. While I wouldn’t have qualified my father as prejudiced, he’s never been the most liberal thinking individual on the face of this planet – or any other. Obviously he’s changed dramatically over the course of the last ten years. Apparently for the better.

As Carter tries to pair the right arm with the right sleeve with very little help from Murray, my dad collects our coats and brings them over. He hands Daniel’s off to Mom as he holds mine up and I juggle the kid from arm to arm to get into it. Mom steps up and tucks Daniel into his, leaning up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his forehead. 

“There’s much more to this little one than meets the eye, Jack,” she says softly, frowning slightly. “I hope you understand that?”

I can at least put her fears to rest on that worry. “I do, Mom. He’s pretty special no matter how you look at it.”

“Oh, I would think he was special just for the gift he’s given you, hon. But it’s much, much more than that. He is marked for destiny.”

_‘If you only knew,’_ I think, holding back a sigh. Daniel’s met destiny so many times he should be comic book flat by now. But no, like the Road Runner he just keeps coming back for more, more, more. Not that I mind him coming back. The part I mind is constantly watching him get steam rolled – it’s how I came by all this grey hair.

“Do you wish me to convey Danieljackson to the vehicle, O’Neill?” Teal’c has both arms in his coat finally and Carter’s blowing her bangs off her forehead as though the process has raised a sweat. 

My dad helps Carter into her coat.

“Thanks, T-Murray,” I’m as bad as Daniel. “I’ll take him out. One of you will have to hold him in the truck though, the seats are likely to be freezing and I didn’t think to bring the blanket inside.” I’m tired. It’s been a long, stressful day, even if in the end it was good stress. I have a headache developing that feels like a nine-inch nail straight through my left eye. “Where’s Hershey?” I haven’t seen the dog since Daniel took me out to the back yard to meet Luke Skywalker.

“Oh, they’re probably downstairs. I’ll get him,” Sara says, straightening.

“Thanks.” 

Daniel’s been back and forth, playing video games on the downstairs big screen TV and keeping the dogs company, when he wasn’t coming to check on me.

As we’re walking out the door I find myself walking next to Cancel. He looks over at me and smiles slightly. “Sara has told me little of her first marriage, but I know the two of you lost a son. It is good the universe sees fit to make some restitution, Colonel.” He has a faint, exotic accent I can’t place and I usually have a very good ear for languages. “I make Sara happy, her music makes her happy; young Daniel appears to make you happy.” 

It’s not a question; he makes it a statement of fact.

He’s right. I miss adult Daniel, we all do, but as Carter said months ago, there’ s something so engaging about this incarnation, he’s even harder to resist than big Daniel. And none of us were particularly good at resisting adult Daniel. 

“You only have to call me Colonel if you work for me and I don’t think that’s a likely scenario anywhere in the near future. So, call me Jack.”

His smile widens briefly as he extends a hand. “Good luck, Jack. I think you have your work cut out for you raising this one.”

“I think you’re right about that too. Thanks for being willing to host this event in your home.”

“It was once your home too. I could no more deny my Sara than you can say no to that one,” he nods at Daniel. “Is it not so?” 

This is really bad, to be pegged for a lame duck by your ex-wife’s new husband. 

And I swear everybody’s channeling my mother tonight, because he adds, “It is always so with the ones we love and who love us. We can deny them nothing.”

Okay, my headache has just blossomed into a full-fledged migraine. I’ve had enough wisdom and philosophy for at least the next six months. I just need to unwind with the Simpson’s. “Yeah,” I reply, stepping over the threshold into the freezing night air. 

It’s snowing. Apparently it’s been snowing for a good portion of the evening because everything’s covered; every tree and bush, every roof and chimney, every car and lawn ornament. Two doors down someone’s already put up Christmas lights. They shine through the snow so the snow-covered bushes look like they’re inhabited by Daniel’s faeries. 

“Want me to drive so you can hold Daniel?”

“Keys are in my right coat pocket. Thanks, Carter.”

“No problem, sir.” 

“Murray, let the dog get in first unless you want to be soaked.”

Thankfully we forego the Walton’s routine tonight, though goodbyes are exchanged through the thickly falling snow. Sara and Cancel wisely head back into the house, but my parents follow as we dash to the truck. 

My mom leans in to kiss both Daniel and I, reaching over to squeeze Carter’s hand, then snaking an arm into the back seat to give Teal’c’s knee a squeeze. “Thank you, both of you, for taking care of him. I’m so glad he’s had someone to watch over him all these years.” 

“The Colonel likes to think he’s the one does all the watching over,” Carter laughs. “You’ll be destroying his macho self-image in another minute, Maggie.”

My mother laughs too. “Ahhh, you’re right to reprove me, Samantha. We’ll see all of you on Saturday.” 

Teal’c hands the blanket out for Mom to tuck around Daniel. 

“And the two of you, tomorrow.” For a moment her hand rests on mine and I feel that little jolt Daniel felt this afternoon. She murmurs something so low I can’t hear; but I know it by heart, it’s an Irish blessing. 

She said it over me every night for as long as I let her come in and kiss me goodnight. It wouldn’t surprise me if she snuck in after I was asleep and said it over me until I was eighteen and left home for the Air Force Academy.

_May you always have walls for the winds,_  
a roof for the rain, tea beside the fire,  
laughter to cheer you, those you love near you,  
and all your heart might desire. 

“Come on, hon, let these people go home. At least two of ‘em have to work in the morning.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I love you, Jonathan O’Neill. I hope you never forgot that.” A snail trail of silver sinks down into my hand, spreading a warmth through my body that has nothing to do with the truck heater, or even Daniel’s warm little body pressed against my chest. The headache dissipates slightly and my mother smiles again at my look of disbelief. “I’ve learned a few things over the last ten years as well. If you had just a few more minutes, I’m sure I could fix that headache.”

It occurs to me, if she’s learned to ‘express’ her gifts like this, I could be endangering the most secret project on Earth just by letting her hang around me.

Carter rescues me. “We need to get Daniel home. Murray and I look forward to seeing you Saturday morning. Email me what time, we’ll meet you at the Colonel’s.”

“I love you too, Mom.” When I finally get my voice back, the words roll easily out of my mouth because I’ve said them so often to this incarnation of Daniel. 

I hope I remember to thank him for these moments if he does get big again. 

She touches my hand one last time, tucks the blanket under my thigh so it doesn’t trail out the door, and steps back. My father swings the door shut, slaps the cold metal, and stands away, tipping a two-fingered salute. 

“Oh!” My mother exclaims, “Wait! I forgot the pie.” 

Before I have a chance to protest, she disappears fleetingly. She’s back almost before I can get the truck door open again, thrusting a cellophane-wrapped pie into my hands. 

“Strawberry rhubarb.” I’m instantly salivating, despite still wishing for a couple of alka seltzer. 

“What other kind of pie would I make knowing you were coming?” A fleeting touch on my cheek and the headache notches down another decibel or two. “Give that little one a goodnite kiss from me when you tuck him in tonight.” 

“I will. G’night, Mom. See you in the morning.”

“Until tomorrow,” she says, smiling as she steps back, once more leaving my father to perform chauffeur duty. This time when he steps back off the curb, he wraps both arms around my mother and I watch them disappear in the rearview mirror. 

Teal’c and the dog are snoring in the back seat as we head down the street. I lean my head back against the headrest and sigh, thankful this day is over. 

I think, for the first time in many years, I’ve experienced Thanksgiving the way it was meant to be experienced. I would never admit this out loud, but tonight I’m overflowing with thankfulness. 

My list is very personal, not one I’d ever share over the Thanksgiving dinner table.

I’m thankful for life in a way most people wouldn’t understand; for family- both of them - again, in a way most people wouldn’t understand; for friends who are more like extended family; for the opportunity to make a real difference in this world, maybe even the universe. I’m thankful I’ve learned to listen to the stars instead of merely watching them. I’m thankful for the openness Stargate travel has engendered; the ability to be surprised and delighted by screw-ups like this downsized Daniel, instead of being pissed and depressed. 

That’s just scratching the surface, I could go on for the rest of the night if I had the kind of focus Daniel does when something captures his attention. 

But I don’t, so I won’t. 

I’ll quit with this - I’m very thankful for ties that bind.

 

~*~


End file.
